


Bittersweet Savior

by FellowRobophilia



Category: Transformers - All Media Types, Transformers: Prime
Genre: Alien Biology, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Bottom Megatron, Canon-Typical Violence, Crack and Angst, Enemies to Lovers, Eventual Smut, Existential Crisis, Feels, Friends to Lovers, M/M, Mating Cycles/In Heat, Mech Preg (Transformers), Medical Procedures, Megamom, Megatron is a Mess, Multi, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Polyamory, Spark Sexual Interfacing (Transformers), Sticky Sexual Interfacing, Sub Megatron, The Author Regrets Nothing, The Nemesis is a flying Mess, The tags makes it seem more porny than it actually is, Threesome, Transformer Sparklings, Weird Biology, inappropriate use of Soundwave's cables, megapreg, no one signed up for this mess
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-08-03
Updated: 2020-10-19
Packaged: 2021-03-06 02:15:29
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 8,990
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25695661
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/FellowRobophilia/pseuds/FellowRobophilia
Summary: "Unicron has been defeated and Optimus Prime has made his inevitable recovery. Things are going back to the status quo… until now.Megatron's frame is changing. Something minuscule creeps through his coding yet his firewalls find nothing wrong.Unicron may have left behind more than it seems, forcing Megatron to reevaluate the war, perhaps even end it... in a rather unorthodox way"
Relationships: Knock Out/Starscream (Transformers), Megatron/Optimus Prime, Megatron/Optimus Prime/Soundwave, Megatron/Soundwave (Transformers), past Breakdown/Knock Out
Comments: 61
Kudos: 166





	1. He chewed you up and spit out something new

**Author's Note:**

> Special HUGE thanks to my girl EbonyAura for encouraging me to write and being my editor. For anyone reading my work, go check out hers as well. She's so damn talented in writing emotional anguish and her interpretation of Optimus is to die for!
> 
> Season 2 divergence, takes place after episode 9 and Starscream have already rejoined the Decepticons.
> 
> Chapter warning; Non-con body alterations and descriptive medical procedures.

Fresh energon drips down his legs, hot and thick between his thighs. Megatron’s low growl turns into a hiss, feeling the pit-like sting of his claws shoved brutally into his valve. From inside, he feels something twist and give way, lighting up his sensor net in pain. Megatron draws his claws out slowly and brings them back into view, glaring at what turns out to be a torn seal. Disgust and disbelief swirl to life in his field. He lost his seals _eons_ ago, back when he was still a young miner discovering his frame with a fellow batchmate. He remembered the experience dimly, two curious first timers poking and prodding at everything on their frames, including their seals. His was even the first to be removed. 

Yet here he is holding a new valve seal between his digits. 

_How?_ And better yet, _why?_

It’s tougher than his first seal, seemingly forged from harder material and designed to hurt him. The silver mech stares at his clawed digits in utter confusion. _What could’ve caused this?_ Then it dawns on him… _Unicron._ Megatron howls in fury, cursing the Chaos Bringer as he flicks away the torn seal and blasts it. All that remains is the smoke from his cannon and a blackened scorch mark on his habsuite’s floor. 

He slowly looks up and over at the mirror. Crimson optics reflect back, staring hard at the source of much scrutiny over the past few weeks: his hips. It hadn’t been notable at first and still wasn’t at first glance. Megatron can’t recall when he started to notice the difference. Perhaps it was some time in the span of his dark energon induced visions. Or was it when he first felt his gait had shifted? Maybe it was when he began hearing crude whispers among his troops, asking questions they would not have dared to think if they knew he’d heard. 

_Has our lord’s aft always been so shapely? I'd tap that if he wasn't so terrifying._

_If you would actually tap that and survive I'd give you my engex recipe._

The silver mech roars, his claws scraping and puncturing the wall in barely restrained violence.

Unicron had altered his frame for the purpose of interface. The implications sicken him, sending an involuntary tremble wrecking through his frame. This is a whole new type of violation. How close was that carrier-fragging god to doing something unspeakable to him? What more have Unicron possibly done to his frame? He ruminates briefly on the strange, unexplainable new lines of protocols that onlined somewhere in the same time frame as the changes to his hips. As far as he knows, they’ve done nothing of notice yet. 

That is, unless they’re responsible for the abdominal aches, a recent rise in frame temperature and now the discovery of this regrown seal that’s been there for _who knows how long._ Megatron cannot even count how many times he’s run virus scans and firewall checks. All results always come back negative, assuring him of nothing out of the ordinary. Eventually, after growing bored of the same cheery notification of full-frame functionality three times a cycle, he stopped fussing over it. 

Out of a morbid sense of curiosity, the silver mech runs yet another system check for the first time in weeks. He gets the same infuriating results, the only exception being a confirmation that his frame is two degrees above normal. 

Megatron feels sick, almost able to visualize that revolting purple swirl in his tanks as if the dark energon is still there. A once powerful elixir promising to give him victory, now nothing but a foul sludge infecting his frame. He imagines traveling back down into Unicron’s depths, taking out all his fury and frustrations on Unicron. Hacking, slashing and shooting at the Chaos Bringer’s inactive spark casing until there’s nothing but molten slag left. No one makes such grave insults upon the War Lord’s own being and gets away with it! _No one!!_

Megatron doesn’t realize he’s stepping away from the wall until he feels agony electrify his circuits and more energon coating his legs. He chokes on a gasp, snapped cleanly from his hysteria but pummeling down a new path of panic. Primus, what the frag is wrong with him? How much more havoc did Unicron curse upon his frame that he can’t even recognize-- 

A sudden ping in his HUD jerks him out of another building wave of anxiety and anger. He recognizes the sender as his TIC announcing his presence at the outside of his door. He’s unable to process a proper response to the ping before the lanky mech overrides his habsuit's locks and enters with a sweeping walk, foregoing any gesture of respect or recognizing that he’d just barged into his leader’s private quarters as if they were his own. Had it been anyone else performing such an audacious act, he would have shot them on the spot.

Soundwave speaks directly to his HUD as he slowly approaches the distressed Warlord.

:: Megatron; unwell. Query; what is wrong? :: The Communication officer demands. 

Crimson optics narrow dangerously. What gave him the right to enter like this, and really, why is he asking such a futile question? 

"Had it been anyone else invading my habsuite the offense would be punishable by death, Soundwave!" Megatron snaps haggardly in defense, trying to disguise a pained wheeze with a growl. ”What makes you think I am unwell?!” 

:: Soundwave; hears all, sees all. Megatron; been acting differently as of late. :: The faceless mech replied calmly, taking in every odd detail of his leader’s clearly stressed frame. He hoped it would not have to come to this, to order vehicons to stand guard at their Lord's quarters without his knowing or consent to report anything unusual. But too many strange happenings had been occuring on the Nemesis lately, all revolving around their ruling warlord. And a fusion cannon shot isn't exactly subtle, even through sound-proofed walls.   
Enough is enough. Soundwave would confront his leader, whether he liked it or not.

The silver mech lets out a mirthless, breathy chuckle and shakes his head. "Of course you do."

:: Query; what is wrong? :: The mute mech repeats, laying a gentle, spindly servo on the closest silver arm. From where Soundwave stands he can see the fusion cannon scorch mark on the floor from one side of his visor, and the energon dripping between two minutely shaking legs from the other side. He takes in the same energon staining Megatron's talons. None of it implies anything good. What or who could have caused such a self destructive reaction? 

"Unicron, that slag eating devil, altered my frame" he hisses, his Kaonian rasp strained by static before shouting with as much hate and fury he could muster. "HE INTENDED TO MAKE ME HIS PERSONAL SHAREWARE!!"   
He fires his fusion cannon again, this time scorching a hole through the door. As the edges of the hole fizzle, Megatron’s roiling anger suddenly dissipates to leave behind a hollow ache throbbing through his being. He can only slump in defeat.

Soundwave is frozen in shock, slowly processing the admittance and accusation of the Chaos Bringer. _How dare he._ Ice cold, righteous fury threatens to emerge at the harm done to his infallible leader and closest friend. _How DARE he?!_ But Soundwave stops himself, observing again how Megatron can’t even look at him or control his spastic field. His anger won't help his fellow gladiator right now. Revenge and justice for this heinous act will come in due time. For now, he makes a decision to act against the Decepticon nature, enclosing his long spindly arms around the massive shaking warframe for the first time in millions of years. His EM field intermingles with Megatron's own, an EM field as violent and hurt as a tumultuous sea. 

They stand there, letting time flow into something non-existent as their frames touch and their EM fields mingle. No words spoken, no words are needed. Soundwave slowly works in calming the warlord down, gauging every minute and steady diffusion of the silver frame’s trembling. Megatron's field eventually falls still under the familiar second one weaving through his. He can’t help the pulse that he gives back, his field finally singing in the same peaceful pace as that of his TIC. Acknowledgement, understanding, reassurance. 

When Megatron's shaking has ceased, stressed cooling fans have slowed down and modesty panel closed, the Communication officer knows he's alright, for now.

:: Objective; see Knockout. :: The lanky mech demands. The silver mech knows it's no use to debate or refuse. Experience from eons previous has taught him Soundwave will drag him by his data cables kicking and roaring, as much as it hurts his pride. 

Megatron just sighs and frowns in response, grabbing a mesh rag to dry off his thighs and silently contemplating if this is Soundwave's way of committing mutiny.

***

Gynecology appointments aren't exactly common in the Decepticon medic’s line of work, despite their importance to Cybertronians for a healthy functioning frame. Decepticons as a whole are too prideful and distrustful to let even a simple check up take place. Ridiculous is what it is, in Knockout's humble opinion. But fine, they can limp around with misaligned valve calipers, infections and malfunctioning spikes for all he cares. He's not going to nag his fellow Decepticons into medical check ups, it's their responsibility to book appointments. The only exceptions can be counted on his servos.

However.

When the Third in Command makes a sudden full frame check up AND gynecology appointment for _the Lord of the Decepticons_ of all mechs, Knockout considers jumping out a window and letting suicide be his final act of treason. One does not simply stick your servo up Megatron's valve without expecting him to rip off your servo and tear you in half.

The cherry red Doctor is finishing setting up the stirrups when the duo arrives. Soundwave, as unreadable as always, takes a sentry position a bit away from the med berth. Megatron is oddly reluctant in his movements, drawing at Knockout’s intrigue.

"Ah, good day my lord, Commander Soundwave, what seems to be the issue today?" He locks the medbay as busy for the sake of his patient's privacy.

"That's what we want to know, Doctor." The silver mech sneers.

The doctor resists the urge to fiddle nervously and instead motions for the silver mech to take a seat on the med berth. 

"Well my lord, would you enlighten me on your current symptoms?" He tries to encourage the silver mech to talk, it makes it easier to find out what's wrong.

"A rise in body temperature, abdominal aches and a regrown valve seal." The War lord says almost hastily while glaring off at the wall, his EM field anxious and irritated.

Knockout blinks owlishly in surprise and confusion, now isn't that the standard case? He resets his vocalizer. "That is… certainly of concern. I'll begin with a scan and then hook you up to a code analyzer. While the analyzer reads you I'll take a look down there. Does that sound acceptable?" 

Megatron nods curtly, lies back and exposes his medical port to the doctor. The familiar buzz of the deep scanner and the prick of the medical uplink eases him a little.

The scan does not take long to perform, and when it completes Knockout has to read the results twice. It's mostly up to standard with previous exams, except one rather major new addition. He stares at that particular image, wondering if the scanner has decided to malfunction. _What the frag is this hokus pokus?_ For the sake of the warlord’s temper, however, he reserves from making any comments until the entire check up is done. "My lord, would you lift your legs up onto the stirrups, please?"

The silver mech complies and retracts his modesty panel. Knockout brings a tray of various medical tools within arms reach, takes a seat on a stool and scuffles closer. The doctor frowns in concern at the sight of the bloody purple valve. "If it's not too sensitive to ask, my lord, how did this happen?" He asks carefully.

"I tore out the new seal." The patient snarls impatiently. 

"I… that is not a seal removal method I would recommend. I'm going to use a speculum to perform a proper examination of the valve lining as well as the valve calipers. If there's any remaining residue from the seal I'll remove it swiftly. Is that acceptable, my lord?" Providing information beforehand about what he's about to do is not Knockout's usual patient care. Normally he just works quickly and efficiently and if his patient is being fussy he simply restrains them. Or uses his handy medical override to knock them into stasis. He has zero tolerance for difficult patients. That, however, will not change the fact that such an attitude from any subordinate will get you slagged if it's _Megatron_ you're treating. Regardless of whether it's for his own good. 

"Get it over with, Doctor" the silver mech gruffly commands. He grunts when the sims speculum spreads and strains his valve opening, and glares up at a scratch in the ceiling as if it's the next most offensive thing since the Primacy.

To his credit, Knockout is prompt and efficient, his frown deepening when he finds the area where the seal was torn away. He will have to remove the excess as the last step. What's left of the seal is hard and stiff, certainly not normal. Nor should the cervix at the end of the valve tube be there. 

But if the scans are right, it makes sense. 

The bleeding has since long stopped at this point, so he begins with simply cleaning out the valve of excess dried energon. He then moves on to the standard examination; Testing the valve callipers, looking for infections or other possible wounds and cell samples from the valve walls. 

The cervix however… Knockout reaches over and picks up a tool that's never been used before. Not that it isn’t useful, but rather because there hasn’t been a bot in the Decepticon ranks in millenia that could benefit from it. Unboxing the uterine sound and making a disinfecting swipe before inserting it, the medic carefully prods at the cervix. He then slips it past both the cervix and a gel wall. His patient grunts at the intrusive feeling, making his discomfort known and Knockout resists taking a deep vent to calm himself. He works a bit more quickly in mapping out the new organ with the tool as it takes cell samples.

"Soon done my lord." He reassures his fickle patient. 

Knockout moves onto the last procedure,spreading a local numbing agent over the injured valve wall to continue. Finally, he cuts off the excess valve seal and spreads nanite gel over the wound before removing all tools. 

"It's done my lord, you can close up now. You should refrain from using your valve for any activity as the nanite gel works within the next 48 hours." 

There's a hasty snap of closing modesty panels and the doctor scoots away on his stool while he wipes off his servos. The code analyzer has completed its diagnosis, but Knockout already knows the answer. His optics scan the results of the analyzer, quickly reading the additional information provided by the cell samples.

"Well, Knockout?" Megatron snaps impatiently, anxious irritation prickling at his field. 

Oh how to even explain this?? "I don't know how to tell you this- GYAH!! Watch the paint!" He yelps as he's grabbed by an agitated warframe.

"Spit it out Knockout or I will do more than just scratch your precious finish!!" He snarls, pulling his legs forcibly from the stirrups.

"You have a gestation tank!!" Knockout blurts out. Megatron halts, sinking back in shock and letting go of the doctor.

"I-I don't know how but you have a fertile, fully functioning gestation tank. Or a forge as it's also called, my lord. The new codes you possess are dormant carrier protocols and heat protocols. The rise in temperature is an early sign of an incoming heat!" Knockout stutters, raising his servos in fearful surrender and backing away. He will have to buff that fragging scratch later.

Soundwave remains unresponsive in his corner, disbelieving and worried of the diagnosis he’s hearing. _It doesn’t make sense._

Megatron’s processor knocks him into a software reboot, taking a solid minute before answering. "A… gestation tank? Heat? What even is a heat?" He rasps, barely believing what he's hearing.

Knockout resets his vocalizer nervously. "A heat is a cycle that prepares the frame to conceive a sparkling, my lord. We don't have much information on it beyond that as it was essentially a thing of the past." Taking a deep vent, the Doctor decides that just this once he should dare to be bold towards his Lord. 

"Lord Megatron… you might be the only Cybertronian capable of carrying in the galaxy. Without the Allspark, you now hold control over our only chance out of a slow but inevitable extinction. I implore you to take heed of that." Knockout let those words sink in. Megatron stares back at the medic with owlish optics.

Without any clue as to how to react, the only thing that replies to Knockout is the tray of medical tools that flies across the medbay, imploring him to take cover.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Next chapter will explain why no other current Cybertronian is capable of carrying young and Starscream will enter the scene.  
> Feel free leave a word or two, no comment is too short or too long :)


	2. Megatron is grounded

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Everyone discuss topics no one wants to talk about, the chapter.  
> Fair warning, this may be the most uncomfortable chapter in the entire fic. Brace yourselves cause there will be discussions about forced abortions and necessary measures for saving their species.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Holy shit guys I am so overwhelmed and thankful for the positive reception of my silly little idea, I did not expect it tbh. I love you QwQ. I heed you to read the chapter summary for this one though. 
> 
> Special love and gratitude to my editor EbonyAura <3

After a near meltdown in the medbay, graciously avoided by Soundwave's interference, an emergency command staff meeting was in order. This new matter which had come to their attention was too important to pretend like it's nothing, even Megatron acknowledges that despite his indecisive feelings about it. 

Before the war, the old senate had an iron grip on the population’s numbers. It had begun with censoring interfarce reproduction of newsparks, institutions were forbidden to educate on it and obstetrics were banned from the slums. 

Then the forced castrations came in order. 

Disguised as the good will of the state, they had come cloaked in the veils of much-needed medical appointments for the lower castes. The doctors sedated you, removed the whole gestation tank from you and you walked out none the wiser. He had found it suspicious that the state was offering free medical care and had initially refused to go, only to be dragged by enforces into a hospital while being chided at as if he were a mechling. The whole ordeal had been humiliating and it wasn’t until years later when he had become a gladiator that he realised what they had done. 

Revelation after revelation came to light: Lower castes and disposables were castrated. Middle castes had to seek permission or risk having their newspark forcibly aborted. And all while the high castes were free to do as they like. 

It was an outrage. _How dared they?!_ This vile form of violation is along the severity of _empurata!_

To get their reproductive freedom back became one leading motives for the rebellion.

Alas, when the war broke out the facility that held their stolen gestation tanks was blown up, by the senate no doubt.

Now the veteran gladiator have been given a new fertile gestation tank by _Unicron_ . The irony sure as pit isn’t lost on him. On one servo it’s an undeniably precious gift to be used if they all want a future after their generation. On the other servo it’s _himself_ who has to literally carry that burden. Megatron, the unbeaten champion of The Gladiatorial Pits, the scourge from Kaon, the Slagmaker, _The Lord of The Decepticons._ Just imagining himself bloated with one growing sparkling while cooing to another makes him cringe and shudder. He doesn’t know how to feel about it. He’s angry, uncertain, _frightened_.

_He does not want this gift._

It changes _everything_. And by the reactions of his officers, they too realise a drastic change in the war effort is inevitable. His TIC and medical officer have already had their initial reality crash at the medbay with him, but telling his other two officers was an experience in itself. 

Starscream's first reaction was to laugh, believing it to be a bad joke. Then, upon realizing the seriousness of Lord Megatron’s announcement, shriek in nonsensical seeker clicks. It was a long while before his disbelief calmed into finally sitting back in shock. 

Dreadwing’s reaction boiled down to a software reboot, requiring a couple kliks to recalibrate the situation at servo before asking, "Isn't this a good thing, my liege?" He shrunk back in his seat when he received a glare as an answer. 

Although, in the grand scheme of it all, Megatron found it quite hilarious to watch them all have an existential crisis.

Inside the war room they sat collected around the large round table, everyone of them uncomfortable in the surreal atmosphere which had gathered in their midst. Like the eye of a hurricane, Megatron situated himself at the head of the table. Soundwave sat to his left, Knockout to his right as the chief medical officer, followed by his SIC and Dreadwing. Normally Starscream would sit to his right, but due to the circumstances his input was decided to be of greater weight than the SIC’s. 

The long, awkward silence was starting to choke the Warlord when Starscream finally speaks up.

Crossing his legs and arms his SIC gesticulates with his left servo as he speaks.

“So, Master, what do you plan to do about it? You hold the future of our species in your servo but I think we can all, ah, agree that putting you on the battlefield is unnecessarily _risky_." 

The Warlord narrows his optics dangerously. “I’m THE Champion of Kaon, what makes you think I would suddenly become frail?!” his cannon hums in warning. 

Starscream yelps and jumps in his seat. “Ah! Please Master, I meant no offence! It’s just- just incredibly easy to lose your gestation tank! A single shot could _destroy_ it, despite your skill in battle and thick armor!”

Dreadwing raises a servo and speaks with a slight nervous waver to his voice. “I’m inclined to agree with Commander Starscream, my liege. Please-”

“Are you two conspiring?!” The silver mech growls, about to go on a rant.

“My Lord! As the CMO, I can confirm how difficult it is to save a badly damaged gestation tank!” He interrupts, only barely able to look at his leader in the optic. “It has a thick specialized gel wall that’s hard to artificially replicate and the tank’s outer shell is a collection of layered platelets. If the forge is damaged then your frame may have difficulties creating a strong protoform for the newspark, or you may even be rendered sterile!” The doctor is tense, serious and even a little agitated. He’d love to chide at Megatron’s pride but only a fool, or the big O, would do that. There weren’t many in the Decepticon ranks that had gestation tanks to begin with and the few who had lost them in battle or to death. 

Megatron falls silent at the doctor’s brutally honest defence. To think that a part of him would be so… _fragile_. “How can the organ that is supposed to build new life be so vulnerable?” he asks no one in particular in a quiet snarl.

“It can take a beating, that’s for sure. The platelet shell and gel wall are surprisingly tough, but are weak to direct exposure of energy shots and blasts.” Knockout answers anyways. Withholding vital information always comes back to bite you in the aft when it comes to Buckethead and Mr. Stalker. 

“My Liege… be reasonable.” a mixed sound clip of Knockout and Starscream comes from the Communications chief. There’s a certain finality for whenever Soundwave speaks up. Arguing against him is like telling Knockout to stop fussing with his finish.

The silver gladiator sinks back in both thought and defeat. It is unnecessary to risk this precious salvation to their species. Although what are they going to do with the servoful of autobots on this pathetic mudball of a planet? They could just leave after they have secured whatever artifacts are left on this planet, it’s not like Optimus and his crew can follow them. So those fleshling loving scraplets would be stranded. But that won’t do either, now will it? To leave behind Optimus, his arch enemy, his old friend, and his eternal partner alive and well in this dance they call war? _Unthinkable_. 

His thoughts are interrupted by his SIC once again.

“So, what are we going to do to hinder as much inbreeding as possible? Cause that’s an inevitable issue that will have to be dealt with. The more precautions made the better.” Starscream, always the one to point out the titan in the room.

_Slag._

There’s that too. It’s not like inbreeding among cybertronians has as dire health effects on the offspring like it is in organics per se, it’s just that the consequences are different. The offspring won’t be born with deformities or illnesses, but they will be genetically similar. Their immune system and firewalls will practically be the same, one new disease or virus and the entire generation might be wiped out in an instance. Vehicons and Eradicons have the same issue due to being clones, it’s the reason they need regular firewall updates more often than others. 

Then there’s also the issue of family unit bonds… that makes it emotionally and psychologically complicated to say the least.

The Doctor answers calmly. “Lord Megatron is naturally going to have a harem of sires, the offspring will have to be paired up with us and even the vehicons when they’re of age… With the exception of the progenitors and their offsprings of course.” Meaning that an offspring of Soundwave and Megatron might be paired up with Dreadwing when in heat in the far future. Everyone in the room frowns with discomfort.

It’s not ideal and not entirely fair to the future offsprings, but it’s the best they can do. If only they had Shockwave to help, his genius mind would find solutions for genetic diversity...

Dreadwing speaks up after having been quiet nearly half an hour now. “Not to be invasive my liege, but when can we expect a heat cycle? It’s for the best to be prepared.”

Megatron resists a sigh. It’s not really something he wants to talk about, in fact doesn’t want to go into depth in any of this. Do they assume him to pop out ten sparklings this instance or something? “Don’t expect any sparklings in the near future, Dreadwing.” His tone a low, warning snarl. “I _will not_ have any yet regardless how soon my heat is approaching!” In truth, he doesn't even know what _to do_ with a sparkling. He huffs. “My body temperature has begun to rise so it is soon I assume.” 

A certain annoying seeker suddenly chuckles in nervous dread. “Ohhhhh dear... Master, you have no idea what a heat does to you, do you? You might very well have those sparklings sooner than later after all!” Despite his nervousness, Starscream is spitefully delighted because he knows how much turmoil his lord must be in right now.

Megatron just glares at his SIC, optic twitching. “Explain quickly Starscream, or Primus help you I will _blast you a new exhaust port!”_ This entire meeting is getting on his nerves. Every question is as uncomfortable as a rust infection.

The seeker squawks and raises his arms in defence and flails his wings in panic. “I-It’s just that heat cycles are wickedly uncontrollable! Your body will demand you to reproduce, causing a certain… _Neediness_ ." Emoting a servo to empathize his words. "Not only that but your body will produce a pheromone that will make others desire you _very acutely._ “ 

The War lord’s reaction is silence and restrained violence, claws gouging deeply into the armchair. Everyone else is staring out into nothing in both fear and shock. The mere idea of a needy, insatiable Megatron is a concept no one is prepared for.

Starscream is going to celebrate when this meeting is over. 

After a solid awkward minute Megatron resets his vocalizer. “Anything else? No? Then this matter is dismissed for now. _Get out._ ” He wishes could hide in some miserable hole if he could. 

  
  


***

Starscream is positively cackling. “Oh the irony! Megatron of all mechs going into heat, unbelievable wouldn’t you say so, Doctor?!” his entire frame is shaking with laughter as he's lounging on one of the med berths.

Knockout rolls his optics. He doesn’t know how or when his medbay had become his and Starscream’s gossip room but it is now. “Careful Screamer, you might fall on your aft from the weight of all that spite”. Sorting through his medical tools to find that one box with unused obstetrics tools. Knockout hadn’t even known they had obstetrics tools on _The Nemesis_ until Soundwave had sent him a query to look for them.

“I for one believe this is a fortunate turn of events.” Muses the CMO. “Absurdity aside, it will do that old brute some good to mellow down into a momma”. Unapologetically using earth slang. “Not only will it raise troop morale, it’ll hopefully cool down his ridiculously impulsive violence and maybe it will even put an end to the, at this point, meaningless war. If he doesn’t let that fragging pride of his get his gestation chamber shot by Mr. Big blue sweet rims, that is.” He snides. “Aha! Here it is!” holding up the box in question. Hopefully it includes a manual.

"I wouldn't be surprised if he accidentally steps on his own sparklings." The seeker’s laughter quiets down to a somber silence, wings drooping as if they weigh more than they should. “It’s not fair”. 

“Pardon?” The red sports car turns around and tilts his head at Starscream’s sudden mood change. 

“ _It’s. Not. Fair_.” Each word slowly punctuated as a taloned servo rests at his abdomen. 

Ah. That.

“Do you know how mine got damaged, Doctor?” The seeker asks bitterly.

Starscream has a gestation tank, surprisingly enough. But it’s sterile. Why he hasn't just removed that long useless organ by now is beyond the Doctor. “No, I don’t believe you’ve ever told me that story. Do tell, Herr Kommendant.” He inquires as he brings out a bottle of engex, offering the seeker a sip. Knockout has his stash of engex disguised as mere bottles of coolants in one of the cupboards. It’s not exactly something a Doctor should have in his medbay but who the frag is there to tell him otherwise? Primus? He has closed his medbay for the day anyway, nothing but unlikely emergencies allowed. 

It’s been… difficult without Breakdown. After Arachnid slaughtered him Knockout spent many sleepless nights alone in the medbay. He never sleeps in his own quarters anymore. It’s a too painful reminder that Breakdown will never be there to greet him again, he’ll never buff his plating again and he’ll never feel his warm frame against his own again. As insufferable as Starscream can be, he’s glad to have him back and it’s for nights like these he have those bottles burning engex. Have a moment to be drunk and miserable together then go on as usual the next day.

The slender seeker eyes the bottle before accepting it, taking a hearty chug of it as the doctor sits back in a chair. “Remember the battle of Tyger Pax? You weren’t in high command back then, we had that hoax Hook. In fact where were you even during that battle?”

Knockout gives him a shrug. “Doing my job in a shabby field medbay. Breakdown lobbed in the injured, I fixed them up, salvaged organs from the ones who didn’t make it. The usual.”

“Right.” Starscream takes another sip then passes the battle over to the cherry red doctor. “It was shot by that wench Elita-1. Fearsome soldier I admit. In the heat of battle I didn’t notice how bad the wound was, but I remember it _burned._ ” he then smirks. It was a nasty battle, getting crippled and crawling up her body as she shrieked in horror. “That pink menace managed to cripple both my legs and despite that I still came out on top! I clawed her optics and spark out for that.” His smirk drops back to a frown. “I don’t remember much after that until the battle was over, recovering in Dark Mount’s medbay.”

The Doctor listens intently, taking a sip. “Well, revenge is always sweet, isn’t it?”

A mirthless chuckle. “Oh it was good to know she suffered, but it wasn’t nearly enough when my sweet Skywarp heard the news. That shot from Elita-1 had incinerated the gel walls of my gestation tank.” The seeker takes a deep vent, immersed in memory. “He was utterly sparkbroken since he was the one who wanted sparklings the most out of us. He would go on endless myriads of what possible names we would give them, how many clutches we would have after the war and what activities that endearing fool would like to do with the sparklings. Thundercracker would always patiently listen to his longing rants, but I never had the patience for it… we ended up never getting the chance to have any and now... even they are gone.” Clutching to his abdomen so hard he’s clawing the plating. Slow streaks of optical fluids drip down his cheeks, the words escaping his lips are but broken quiet sobs.

“It’s not fair… " 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Cybertronian inbreeding is like fruit cloning, except with fruit trees you take a piece of the original tree's root and plant it elsewhere. Fruit cloning in a fruit orchard is desired if you want, for example, all your apples to have the same signature flavor. It's the reason why all Granny Smiths tastes the same (for the most part). This, however, makes your fruit orchard very vulnerable towards fungal infections and diseases because all your fruit trees have the same patterned immune system, making it easy for whatever fungus or disease to take over. It's the reason why banana candy doesn't taste like bananas because the banana candy's artificial flavor is based on the Gros Michel, a banana that got wiped out from a fungal infection in the 1960's. Google it if you wanna know more, it's pretty fascinating OvO


	3. Hi you smell nice

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Megatron is coming to term with how his frame have changed and the Decepticon gossip mill is spinning.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I am SO sorry for going so long without an update. I was busy applying to a school during the entirety of September I simply didn't have the time or energy to sit down and write. BUT here's chapter 3, I hope you enjoy it :3  
> Huge gratitude to the lovely EbonyAura who's my editor and helped co-create the last part of this chapter. Seriously she's a sweetheart ;u;

_ Woomph  _

_ CRASH _

There went the fiftieth sparring drone out of commision.

He doesn't know how many hours he has spent here in the sparring room, but his HUD keeps pinging about low fuel levels, his frame is sluggish from exhaustion and now there’s a particular ache between his thighs.  _ That ache.  _ Frankly Megatron refuses to acknowledge it. He  _ will not _ give into whatever humiliating bullslag his frame has in store for him. 

_ Will not. _

_ Will not. _

_ Will not. _

But he can't pretend it's not there forever. Ever since that dreaded discovery from his Doctor's appointment he hasn't truly had a moment to just… come to terms with it.

He will have sparklings some time in the future. Heirs. His legacy. The future of all Cybertronians.

He should feel confident and smug, after all he has the monopoly to shape the future generation into an empire of HIS devoted children. If he plays his role right. But he doesn't feel confident. Being a….  _ carrier,  _ is so foreign a concept it's downright alien to him.

Placing a scarred, taloned servo on his abdomen and tilting his head in thought. Megatron is going to have to change his behaviour if that's going to work, he can't yell and beat at a poor sparkling into devoted obedience he knows that much. 

But he doesn’t know anything else about how to care for a bitlet. Is there miraculously a manual left on the ship? Or can he rely on his carrier protocols? The gladiator is a cold constructed mech, so he doesn't have a creator to draw reference fram either. It's going to be a steep learning curve and as much as he apprehends it, as much as it… yes… scares him, he feels a small twinge of  _ want  _ and curiosity. No cybertronian alive today, young or old, has heard sparkling cries or felt a newspark’s EM field in ages and some doesn’t even know of it.

All those eons ago when he was a young, idealistic and outraged revolutionary he mourned that he and many others will never have offspring of their own. Now he has that possibility… he’s just not ready for such a whiplash change in his life.

He's forced to focus on the more familiar ache from having exercised for hours without pause. The strain in his pistons, the pain in his exhausted limbs. His frame is screaming for rest.

Checking his chrono, he raises an optic ridge in surprise.

_ Three days.  _

For three days he has been cooped up in the sparring room letting the new circumstances sink in.

He's surprised Soundwave haven't come by to nag him into self care by now. 

Megatron looks back out at the sparring room and huffs. Judging by the amount of drones laying on the floor, perhaps it’s no surprise at all the TIC has kept his distance. 

Shaking his head and sighs. He's spent enough time here, pretending that the world outside doesn’t exist is akin to a petulant youngling. The gladiator exits the sparring room, lumbering to his own quarters with no hurry in particular. His frame is exhausted, why run in the corridors? Passing some troops along the way… and their gazes follow him, some even dares to trail after him at a distance. Frowning he tries to ignore it. Normally they either scatter away from his path or bow their heads either in respect, what’s with this peculiar change in behavior?

Pitter-patter.

Pitter-patter.

Hushes and whispers.

Megatron feels his optic twitch and he turns around suddenly when he’s right outside the entrance to his quarters. “ _ WHAT?! _ ” He growls at the little herd of vehicons and eradicons at the opposite end of the corridor. Since when and where did they all come from?

The troops jump as if startled, then look at themselves, then back to him, then suddenly run away as if they just saw a ghost. It leaves Megatron absolutely baffled.

_ What the frag. _

He shakes his head again and grumbles, isolating himself to the privacy of his quarters and beelines to his shower. It must be the pheromone slag Starscream mentioned. The gladiator swears that if it turns out that his pheromones make everyone processor dead he swears he will isolate himself on some mountain top.

His irritated internal rant comes to halt as warm solvent hits his plating and trickles over the protoform underneath. Has it always felt this good? Flaring out his plating a little more, letting the solvent wash away all the grime and old oils, humming at the simple pleasure. The silver mech grabs his wash rag and wire brushes, it’s been some time since he spent attention to his own appearance, not that he cares about it as much as a specific titular doctor. All his scars are a testament of the battles he’ve endured, but perhaps he could spend extra time on truly rinsing his frame from dirt. Built up grime gets in the way of joints after all and his face could use a little extra care for once.

“Mmmh….”

The concept of time slips away as he feels nothing but the warm solvent and his own slow and thorough grooming strokes. He shudders when the brush reaches in between the hip plates, down to soft mesh and stroking cables. Reaching down to his thighs, the slightly ticklish bristles send shocks up his spinal strut, causing him to groan in both pleasure and perplexity. He’s.. surprisingly sensitive? Megatron leans back to let the warm solvent wash over his chest and front as the brush reaches an extra sensitive spot.

“O-Oh…. ”

_ Hold up _ .

Since when did the faintest of touches start to get him off? Is the heat making him  _ this  _ sensitive? He growls and punches the solvent tap, grabs a towel and vigorously dries himself raw, not caring how it stings his newfound sensitive mesh. He throws aside the worn out towel and heads back to his berthroom where his good old energon dispenser waits for him. 

The ship’s options are limited, only offering low and mid grade and flight frames have a strict once every-three-months rationing of high grade due their need of energon with higher energy for their engines. There’s a small engex refinery in the mess hall and if he remembers right his troops as of today have designated only five soldiers including Knockout as unofficial engex brewers. Anyone else who tries engex brewing and breaks the refinery is on everyone’s slag list. If one desires additives then it’s up to oneself to store one’s favorite, although if it’s a dietal need then it’s usually prescribed by the ship’s medic. Same with the cursed, gooey and bitter med grade that no one likes. In fact, when he came back from his space voyage he had an extreme mineral deficiency and was nearly force-fed by Soundwave to take his prescribed med grade with manganese and chromium additives. It. Was. Nasty.

Reaching into his stash of additives he decides to add chromium to his ration. Now chromium isn’t bad, the somewhat bitter and electric taste certainly improves the flavor of plain energon and he needs it for his fusion cannon to be efficient. It's just the grossest thing known to cybertronian kind to be mixed with med grade. 

Speaking of Soundwave, and all of his command staff for that matter. As Knockout so eloquently called it, his  _ harem of studs _ . It will never cease to sound ludicrous. Sipping on his fuel and sitting down on his adequate berth, he contemplates his command staff. If he is to look at it objectively, none of them are bad CNA and his offspring’s abilities and frame types would be near unpredictable, much to the horror of the long gone functionalist purists. Heavy fliers like himself, agile fliers and a small chance for tanks due to Knockout’s automobile altmode and himself being a former drill, but those are only guesses. No doubt there will be betting pools about what his future bitlets may turn into while he’s sparked. 

Looking at it realistically.

He’s not comfortable in the least to let any of his officers become intimate with him. Especially Starscream, whatever they would do in berth the wicked vosian would seek to gain some sort of leverage against him. Knockout is a wildcard and knows how to manipulate a frame. Dreadwing is loyal but he knows not if the bulky seeker’s view of his lord would change into something less respectful. And Soundwave… actually, his TIC is possibly the only one of the four that he feels safe enough to become intimate with. His only true friend in this pit forsaken world.

The silver mech puts away his empty cube onto his nightstand and lays his tired frame down, recharge creeping closer and opticlids growing heavier.

One of his officers is going to be the first sire, it might as well be Soundwave.

  
  


***

The Communication Hub is fairly uneventful to the onlooker’s optic, nor does anyone linger to see if anything were to happen, for a good reason. No one desires to stay in the eerie presence of the tall, spindly and faceless mech for very long.

This is Soundwave and Lazerbeak’s workstation, set away from other prying optics to contain the Decepticon’s greatest secrets. Contrary to popular belief, Soundwave doesn’t do all deskwork alone, especially now when he’s busy decoding the Iaconion database. Although at this point, Lazerbeak spends most of the time entertaining herself by listening in on the troop's gossips rather than actually keeping an optic on surveillance. There’s really not much else going on. The autobots have been silent for weeks as per usual, they rarely make themselves known unless the Decepticons themselves make a move or attempt to raid an energon mine. 

The troop’s chatter has been very Megatron-focused as of late, taking special note of his… scent a few hours ago. Both he and Lazerbeak sneer in disgust when a janitor and a mechanic self-service in the wrecked sparring room and instantly turn off the camera centered on that area of the Nemesis. Though it was both entertaining and worrisome when a group stalked their Lord to his private quarters. It’s safe to say that his lord is in heat and emitting pheromones. They ought to make an announcement soon; the troops need to be informed about the change in structure and, most importantly, the change in their lord as soon as said lord has rested. Three days of isolating himself in the sparring room is a bit… excessive. 

The hours tick by and the spindly mech forgets time as he hyper focuses on decoding his current entry from the Iaconian database. It’s a masterpiece of traps, riddles and dead ends. If they ever catch Optimus Prime again, Soundwave would be eager to dive into the former archivist’s mind to learn how he can decode such a convoluted monstrocity-- He’s suddenly snapped from his task when Lazerbeak alarms him. 

:: Soundwave look! :: Her little frame is shaking with amusement. If she had a voice, he’s sure she would be laughing out loud.

Soundwave turns his attention back to surveillance and... There is an irritated Lord Megatron heading towards the bridge with a squad of dreamy looking vehicons and eradicons stalking from a distance. Speaking of the devil, his next comm. message hails from the fellow gladiator.

:: Soundwave! Order everyone to gather onto the bridge! ::

At this point, he wouldn’t be surprised if every Decepticon onboard already subconsciously knows.

***

Standing at the center of the bridge, Megatron was having second thoughts about stepping pede out of his habsuite. Not only was that humiliating need growing stronger now, but every con around him is swooning as if hypnotized. Starscream and Knockout’s optics dilated the moment the two of them entered the room. It's… unnerving to say the least. 

“Decepticons!” His powerful voice snaps them out of their trance, for the moment. 

“I am sure many of you are finding the future to be bleak. Because after the war, when the autobots are gone for good, what then? Take over Earth and play master over the humans? Live like nomads roaming the galaxy? With the AllSpark lost to the stars and our species sterile, a slow inevitable extinction seems to await our people.” 

His troops sag in crushing defeat, what everyone knows but ignores has been said out loud. It weighs heavily in the air, EM fields wailing with inky black depression and hopelessness. 

“But despair not my Decepticons, for fortune smiles upon us.” A clawed servo rests upon his abdomen. “While his intentions were questionable, Unicron The Destroyer, now nothing more than the rotting core of this pathetic planet, bestowed upon me a gestation tank.”

The atmosphere changes drastically, EM fields crackling with shock and disbelief. Questions vibrating in the air. How could it be? Has their lord and master completely lost it?

“I assure you these are not mere hopes or falsities. Have you not looked upon yourselves? Have you not questioned your own actions towards me? I have noticed how some of you follow me, wondering what it is that you find so alluring. Well, you know better than you think. Your coding knows. This scent is old cybertronian biology, telling you that you are in the presence of a fertile carrier.”

Intrigue peaks and comm. links going wild no doubt. Megatron frowns, his tone turning stern.

“Let this not lead to your demise, Decepticons. I cannot afford to deal with your petty distractions, and neither can you. I expect every last one of you to act with restraint and dignity! Because of this change, the command staff and I have decided that I will not join any battles unless absolutely necessary. This gift is too valuable to needlessly put at risk. For with this, there will be a future for our great people, a generation after us to carry on our legacy!”

The crowd cheers, some even weeps with newfound purpose. This kind of cheering, the feel of everyone’s EM fields filled with adoration, determination and hope. It’s been so long since he made a speech for the sake of giving hope to his troops that he forgot how invigorating it felt like.

***

  
  


[Nemesis private chat room]

[Steve has entered the chat]

Steve: What the frag just happened guys?? Was that real?? Lord Megatron got a gestation tank? Oh my Primus, is it weird if I’m excited? :D

[Darrell has entered the chat]

Darrell: *shrugs* Your guess is as good as mine at this point--Wait you want to what?

[Avery has entered the chat]

Avery: Oh my, I didn’t know you wanted to frag big bad and scary, Steve. Welcome to the club.

Steve: NOT that kind of excitement you aftheads! 

[Chris has entered the chat]

Chris: *sighs* And here I thought I wouldn’t be the lone admirer here. 

Darrell: *raises an opticridge* Really Chris?

Chris: What? Don’t tell me you guys can’t appreciate a well-sculpted mech with a glorious set of thighs!

Darrell: Even if that happens to be LORD MEGATRON HIMSELF?!

Avery: Our Lord is hot as scorched iron but I wouldn’t dare to frag him… maybe. Also how does a gestation chamber even work? Any knowledge on that Steve?

Steve: Ha.. uh… nope? I think I’ve pulled one out from a corpse once though. It was kinda gooey. Didn’t know what it was at the time so I didn’t think it was worth salvaging.

Chris: Really Steve, you’re the medic here! You should know valuable parts when you find them! None of us have had one for millions of years! Weren’t you even a little curious?

Steve: For the last time, I’m a self-taught unofficial field medic. That was really early in the war too. The mech was some jolly colored autobot. A praxian splotched with red, white, black and a bit of cyan detailing. 

Chris: For an Autobot corpse you found so early in the war, you sure remember a lot about his paint. Sure you didn’t have a crush? *winks*

Darrell: Chris… No, that’s necrophilia. We’ve talked about this.

Avery: I did a corpse once. Wouldn’t recommend it, it was boring.

Darrell: … What the slag is wrong with you? 

Avery: I shot him mid-frag, he was spitting so much insults it wasn’t fun anymore. Afthole’s name was Twist something. We were stuck under wreckage and he was a heavy fragger too.

Steve: WHY did you think it was a good idea to frag an autobot? 

Avery: I dunno, we were both bored.

Chris: Let me get this straight. You got stuck with an autobot while trapped under wreckage, got bored, decided to frag the guy, then blew his processor out mid-frag? … Avery, sweetspark, can I be next? You’re turning me on. >8)

Avery: You can frag me senseless tonight but I like you too much to blow out your brains ;)

Darrell: No, please do it. It’ll be one less idiot who I have to entertain every time he wanders in for engex.

Steve: ANYWAY. I’m excited about the fact that we’ll see a sparkling! I’ve never seen a sparkling before! 

Darrell: Well, they’re small, and they make a lot of noise. I know that much. 

Chris: Wow, what an intelligent lesson in Cybertronian youth, Darrell. And for your information, they don’t make a lot of noise.... At least not until they’ve emerged.

Avery: You’ve seen a newspark? Did you knock up the carrier?

Chris: Why do you automatically assume that it was mine? I didn’t try to knock up everyone I saw back then, you know!

Darrell: Somehow I doubt that. 

Chris: ANYWAY--*glares at Darrell for a moment* It was not my sparkling, it was my masters’. He and his bonded had one before I escaped and joined the Decepticons. I remember I had to help clean up after the emergence. Unicron forbid, it was a mess. 

Steve: Chris you HAVE to tell me in detail later! 

Avery: You nasty.

Steve: I want to become a medical professional after the war! I take whatever knowledge I can get, okay? :( 

Chris: Oh yeah, cause I’m sure there’s a whole lot to learn from a bunch of wires and fluids that just shot out of a noblemech’s aft. 

Avery: F in the chat for Chris’s trauma. 

Anyway… what do you guys think of that scent Lord Megatron is emitting? It’s… It’s indescribably heavenly. But don’t you think it’s a little weird? I just completely forget myself when I smell it. 

Darrell: Weird, and most likely your cause of death when you “forget yourself” and wind up shoving your olfactory sensors up Lord Megatron’s aft. 

Chris: *snickers* Now THAT’S something I wanna see... If only to know what the frag happened to me back in that sparring room. 

Darrell: Wait, what do you mean ‘what happened to you back in the sparring room?’ You didn’t actually try to frag him did you?

Chris: As much as I would like to, I’d be in pieces on the floor if I did. So, no. 

Avery: Come on, wanna do a fun suicide pact with me?

Steve: Wtf Avery. But please continue Chris. 

Chris: You bet your aft I will, sweetspark *visor wink* But later. As I was saying, I did NOT frag our leader. But while I was repairing the drones, the scent he left on them was fraggin’ amazing. Drove my processor into a lock-up, and I lost focus for a while. 

Darrell: And now we know that you’re not only insane, but you’re physically impaired by your attraction to Megatron. 

Chris: My processor rebooted like an hour or so afterward. Both my panels were popped, and I’d cummed all over the fraggin’ drone I was working on… Felt bad for the guy I was working with, he had to clean it up, but he must’ve gotten off too. He was all knock-kneed and wobbly. 

Avery: Oh slag, kinky. Call me next time that happens?

Steve: YOU WHAT ON THE WHAT. And don’t you encourage him Avery! 

Chris: Hey! Don’t fault a mech for his needs! What was I supposed to do, control a scent-based hallucination and wait until I got to the washracks?

Darrell: Aaaaaand I am never using the second-level washracks again.

Steve: That’s it, I’m out.

[Steve has left the chat]

[Darrell has left the chat] 

[Chris has left the chat] 

[Avery has left the chat]

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A little info at what occupations there are for the Vehicons and the Eradicons on the Nemesis. Besides foot soldiers, the air force and miners that makes up the bulk of the current Decepticon army, there's custodians.  
> The custodians keep the Nemesis in working order with five sub-classes of their own. Janitors, energon distillers (aka cafeteria workers), mechanics, engineers and bridge crew. Engineers are the smallest in number (only three currently alive) with Starscream as lead consultant since he is a confirmed scientist. Janitors, energon distillers and the bridge crew rarely leaves the ship, if ever.  
> Steve's, Darrel's, Chris's and Avery's serial numbers: V-S13V3, CE-D4RR3LL, CM-CHR1Z, E-AV3R7


End file.
